


safety is relative

by HelmetParty



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 21:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18107096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelmetParty/pseuds/HelmetParty
Summary: This was unprecedented, uncharted territory and absolutely beyond uncharacteristic. Michael Myers was supposed to be an unattached, unfeeling monster, an enigma that baffled anyone who tried to understand what was going on in his head. He certainly wasn't known for being generous, and absolutely not for going out of his way to do nice things.





	safety is relative

**Author's Note:**

  * For [horrors_doorstep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrors_doorstep/gifts).



> For horrors_doorstep, who requested this weeks ago and was patient enough to wait a million years. Thank you for putting up with me!
> 
> Title stolen from JayTheWriter, who wrote a way better fic with the same name, and I'm just an unoriginal idiot who thinks about fics I read years ago too much.

All three hooked and dead. One remains.

Her hair laid on her shoulders unkempt. Her legs burned from running around, trying with everything in her to protect and save her friends, but it was no use. He got them each and every single time.

And, somehow miraculously, she remained unharmed.

Michael was silent. He could easily sneak upon you at any time, making him one of the scariest to be in a trial against. He loomed in the distance, knife raised, or he chased you with speed that most assumed had to be supernatural. Or, if you were particularly unlucky, he would grab you right off a gen.

Fox had experienced none of that this trial.

She hugged behind a broken down wall, catching her breath. She wanted to find the hatch. No,  _ needed _ to. Too much too lately had she been subject to dying. You'd think with dying every other day you would get used to such a feat, however, you would be wrong. It never got easier, which makes the constant losses just that much more to bare.

Nothing but silence echoes through Haddonfield as she heaves on dry air. Not even the Entity's crows dared to caw as she walked past, trying to keep low and quiet. It made her feel uneasy, going one against one on his home turf, the odds stacked against anyone that wasn't  _ him _ . He held the advantage, he held the knife. With four of them it was a challenge, only one being an impossible and fruitless attempt that was sure to end in loss. Even so, she held out hope. The hatch had to be  _ somewhere _ .

She listens intently for the sound of it's cold breeze rushing. The only thing she wanted was to feel that burst of fresh air on her skin and in her bones as she leaped to safety and out of the pits of yet another trial. She was as if a hawk, scouring for her prey, although the real predator was likely scouring for his.

Fox stops in her tracks and listens for a moment and  _ yes, _ certainly it couldn't be a trick of the ears - she could hear it! It's gentle wooshing a sound for a tired soul, a comforting light in the darkness. She suddenly takes off in a sprint and rounds the corner, swearing that it could just be past-

Clash. As she turned the corner there is a flash of blue and white and something solid hits her head. She falls onto her back and closes her eyes, the wind being knocked out of her lungs as she tumbles onto the ground in a single swift motion. Her brain goes fizzy, her head spins and suddenly she doesn't feel as lucky.

A few seconds pass but the dizziness in her head fades. She sits up and holds her forehead, a gentle groan of pain escaping her lips as she rubbed her temples.

What the fuck did she smack into?

Her senses flood back into her and quickly so. Her eyes suddenly snap open in grim realization, and she slowly lifts her head to see Michael, unbothered, as if a statue.

What was his chest made of, rocks?

He stood tall, looming over her, knife in hand which rested at his side. His head was tilted, as if a confused dog, doing nothing more than staring down at the woman. 

“I…”

Fox began to speak, but the words wouldn't come out. She was stuck in perpetual limbo, staring into the lifeless black eyes of the bloodied mask, terrified out of her mind. She flinches as a hand suddenly reaches for her face, and she assumed it was over.

But it wasn't.

When no pain came, Fox had assumed the worst. Was she stabbed, but didn't feel it? She had heard of things like that happening before. Was he waiting for her to open her eyes, so he could see her expression as he drained the blood from her neck?

In a sudden bout of courage, she opens her eyes. Instead of a knife pointed at her face or already deep into her flesh, she sees instead an empty, beckoning hand.

“What?”

She was audibly confused. It was a motion that you would make if you wanted to  _ help someone up _ . The notion that a killer would want to help her, Michael fucking Myers no less….simply preposterous. But the hand remained.

...unlikely?

Slowly her hand goes to meet his. As soon as their fingers touch she feels herself pulled up and to her feet. Myers effortlessly did so, as if she weighed nothing more than a napkin to him. 

A red flush creeps through her cheeks. Something was seriously wrong.

“I, uh,” Fox stammered, looking around, half expecting to be strung up like christmas lights with his knife at any moment. Still, he remained eerily still, still threatening, but...not  _ actively. _

“...thank you.”

Michael nodded.

Fox could only stand there in shock. This man was a criminal, but he was behaving like he didn't just kill three people for no discernable reason. Myers was never one to spare anyone's life, not even that of his own damn sister, so why was he…?

Caught up in her own thoughts, Fox had failed to realize that she had  _ never taken her hand away. _ As she came back to reality to face her situation, she quickly shoved her arm to her side, as if only now did she realize it was on fire.

“Oh! I, wow, I- I'm sorry!”

She stumbled and jumped over her words. Her brain was a mess, in a daze half induced by exhaustion and half from Michael. How long had she been there, staring? How long had they touched?  _ Why the hell did Michael not pull away or kill her yet? _

From where she stood, she could see the black smoke of the hatch. It's familiar ring was a sound for sore ears, something she was still unsure that she would be able to touch.

“Are you...going to kill me, then?”

Michael shook his head 'no’.

“Listen, you never spare anybody. You even had the chance to, but you never hit me this trial.”

Fox was looking for answers she wouldn't get. She could ask a pack of gummy worms and get a better response. 

Instead of talking, of course, Michael instead turns and walks down the side of the house. He stops only when he reached an entrance to the other side of the yard, which led to another house, where she could barely see the metallic edges of the hatch. He stopped and stood next to it before turning to face Fox once more.

No fucking way.

Carefully she approached him. The hatch was there indeed, the cool mist sending shivers up her spine. She hugged the house wall, somewhat still jumpy and for good reason. She eyed him cautiously. Was this all a mind game? Killers were known to do that sometimes. They could and would grab you as you jumped to freedom, reveling in the fact that you  _ almost _ tasted it. It was a sick and perverted thing they did, but that's what they were known for; being sick perverts and huge dicks.

“You... _ want _ me to go through?”

Michael nods.

“You won't just...pull me out, right?”

Michael nods again.

A tingle creeps up her spine and she doesn't think it's from the hatch this time. She stood still, eyeing him up and down, looking for any signs of what was going on underneath that mask. This was unprecedented, uncharted territory and absolutely beyond uncharacteristic. Michael Myers was  _ supposed _ to be an unattached, unfeeling monster, an enigma that baffled anyone who tried to understand what was going on in his head. He certainly wasn't known for being generous, and absolutely not for going out of his way to do nice things.

Michael was seemingly tired of waiting. He grabbed Fox's arm with a yelp and pushed her towards the hatch, making it perfectly clear what he wanted her to do. Her legs stood on either side of the hatch, her arm still tightly in the grip of Michael. 

“Let go,” she says. “ _ Please _ .”

He does, after a few moments.

Fox looks down into the void of the hatch, then back at the void of Michael's eyes.

“T...thank you,” she mumbles. She wanted to say more,  _ ask _ more, but it all seemed too much. She felt suffocatingly hot even with the hatch's cold breeze, and any longer looking into his eyes she might have passed out.

She jumps into the hatch and watches as the world around her fades to black. Silently, she thinks of ways to excuse the lack of injuries and her survival, but decides to just ultimately tell the truth.

Minus the whole “Michael Myers spared my life” part.


End file.
